


Idle Thoughts at the End of a Very Long Day

by Popcornjones



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Campsite Rule, Fantasizing, M/M, McCoy is exhausted, No Underage Sex, and not even that really, he wants Pavel, his defenses are down, only contemplation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popcornjones/pseuds/Popcornjones
Summary: After the Enterprise ejects its warp core to escape the black hole all the red matter on Nero’s ship has created, it’s a long voyage back to Earth with only the impulse engines.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Pavel Chekov/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Idle Thoughts at the End of a Very Long Day

**Author's Note:**

> “Wait a minute kid, how old are you?”
> 
> “Sewenteen, sir.”
> 
> “Oh good! He’s seventeen.”

The doctor was tired. No, tired didn’t cover it, he was dead on his feet. In the last thirty-four hours he’d gone from cadet to Chief Medical Officer of a starship, had three different captains, witnessed the destruction of a planet, survived two battles where crazy Romulans were shooting honest-to-god torpedoes at the tin can he was stuck in, almost been swallowed by a black hole, and treated more patients than he could count — the latter for more than sixteen straight hours. His surgical whites were stained with three different colors of blood.

Not a little of which was green. Just because Vulcans were a buncha tight-assed, rule-obsessed automatons didn’t mean they deserved to lose their planet — with eight billion people on it. McCoy had a hard time conceptualizing _eight billion_. It was easier to feel something for the refugees coming through his medbay. A bewildered Vulcan was a sorry thing.

He was pretty sure their own personal Vulcan was growing on Jim, though. McCoy recognized the look on his friend’s face, he’d seen it often enough in the last three years. Not that Jim had a chance with Uhura in the way — you couldn’t pay McCoy to cross Uhura, his life wasn’t worth that much. He hoped Jim was smart enough not to try. It was just as well — Jim didn’t believe in monogamy, but he believed strongly in getting his dick wet as often as possible. The doctor would wager the family farm that Spock wouldn’t put up with that kinda horse shit. Could Spock tame Jim Kirk? No one else had managed it, even for a while, but the Vulcan was stubborn enough, the doctor had to give him that.

McCoy stripped off his soiled clothes in the bathroom, examining himself critically in the mirror. He looked just about as chewed up as he felt, but he knew he still cleaned up ok. Better even, age had given his face some much-needed character. Maybe he was a bitter, middle-aged bum, but he wasn’t _callow_.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, his looks were a little bit pertinent. After his divorce, McCoy’d played around a little, but it didn’t make him feel good. It just made him more depressed, feel more useless. So he’d quit. He figured he’d know when he was ready to go again. If he ever was. The past few years with Jim, McCoy hadn’t felt like he was missing out on much.

Maybe it was all the adrenaline, maybe it was, he didn’t know... _survival instinct_... but today of all days, it had happened. Like some kinda miracle, his libido had risen from its tomb. He’d felt that frisson of attraction, that electric charge prickling low in his belly and his balls, making his cock take notice. It had taken him by surprise — it had been so long that he had no defenses. He was overwhelmed by arousal at a really inappropriate time.

Good thing doctors know how to _compartmentalize._

For all the inconvenience, it was welcome, having these feelings again. McCoy touched himself, stroking his prick a few times, watching it fill and grow in the mirror. He could, if he wanted, close his eyes and fantasize about the object of his lust being with him — it was tempting. It was harmless. But even the fantasy made McCoy uncomfortable.

Because hell, the kid was only seventeen!

The kid was a bonafide genius — McCoy had abused his CMO privileges and taken a look at the kid’s file. Chekov had left home for university in St Petersburg at ten, then gone on to Starfleet Academy at fourteen. He had advanced degrees in theoretical physics and mathematics, and at the Academy Chekov had excelled in everything he touched — astrogation, stellar cartography, tactical theorems and frameworks, relativistic physics, transporter theory... on top of all that, the kid had even won the marathon last year!

And that brilliance appealed, no doubt. Just as the unruly curls, large, innocent eyes and lithe body appealed. But what got McCoy _really_ going was how very much the kid wanted to please. How he threw himself wholeheartedly into every task and completed it with exuberance. How the kid would bend over backwards for you. And wasn’t that a lovely visual!

McCoy’d been pretty shocked to learn that the kid really was just a kid. Only seventeen! Now, if Chekov had much of a childhood, McCoy was a monkey’s uncle. And clearly he was unusually mature for his years. Didn’t make a bit of difference — his age _mattered_.

He heaved a sigh — this was atypical for him. McCoy had always preferred people closer to his own age. He hadn’t had the hots for a teenager since he was one himself. But goddamn, Pavel Chekov was a sweet, ripe peach and McCoy wanted a bite.

The kid’s birthday was in his file. He’d be eighteen in four months and thirteen days. That gave McCoy four months and thirteen days to get rid of the depressing softness around his middle. His ass was still good, and his legs. His chest was passable. His arms could use some work. His gut was a flabby disappointment.

That’s what he would do. McCoy had always done well with a set goal. He’d quit drinking so much, eat something green instead of so much fried junk, and stop skipping workouts — he could combine weights and cardio and get it over with more quickly. By the time Pavel Chekov turned eighteen, he’d be back in fighting trim. 

If the kid was single, McCoy would seduce him. Well, he’d give it a shot — who even knew if the kid liked men at all, let alone a penniless, ill-tempered divorcée almost twice his age.

But if he did... oh, McCoy would show the kid a real good time. He would be a _gentleman_. He’d be attentive and considerate — he could be very considerate when he put his mind to it! — and treat the kid like a prince. A prince who sucked McCoy’s cock with a singleminded willingness to please. The doctor shuddered and gripped himself harder. 

_He’s seventeen, Leonard! Stop being a dirty, old pervert, and take your hand off your dick_!

Climbing into the shower, McCoy made a vow — if he did this, if he seduced Pavel Chekov, he would not be an ass. He wouldn’t lie to the kid or jerk him around. He wouldn’t play games with his heart or his head. He certainly wouldn’t cheat. McCoy might not be able to maintain a functional relationship, but he’d make damn sure that when it was over, the kid was better off. Chekov would leave with good memories and no regrets.

Until he turned eighteen, though, the kid was off-limits. McCoy wouldn’t give any sign of interest — he wouldn’t look at the kid, he wouldn’t talk to the kid, hell, he wouldn’t say more than ‘hello, Ensign’ unless he had to, let alone _flirt_ with him. Chekov should have no idea McCoy had noticed him.

(And if that helped McCoy forget this ridiculous notion, all the better!)

It was a sound plan, he decided as the shower’s sonics finished pulling the outermost layer of skin cells off his body. In six months he could have Pavel in his bed, naked and willing and oh, so ripe! It was an excellent plan! McCoy liked it. 

The best thing about a sonic shower was being dry when you were done. Without bothering with pajamas, McCoy trudged through to the bedroom and collapsed, pulling the standard issue Starfleet blanket up around his shoulders. 

He would do it, McCoy thought as he drifted off. He would do Chekov... 

If he remembered any of it in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I watched and loved The Original Series all through grade school. My first crush was on Uhura. I was the only person I know who enjoyed the first Star Trek movie — I saw it in the theater. I’ve watched all the series (ok, I never finished Voyager) and movies (diminishing returns) and was delighted with the Kelvin timeline and the three new films. Well done J.J. et al. Sorry you got sucked into Star Wars. 
> 
> While I’ve, until now, stuck mostly to writing Sherlock — and have a couple tragically unfinished Mystrade fics weighing on me (apologies to those following, I haven’t forgotten) — the idea of Karl Urban’s Doctor McCoy and (so sad!) Anton Yelchin’s Pavel Chekov consummating their chemistry is currently irresistible.
> 
> The a large percentage of fics of this pairing have Chekov convincing McCoy — usually when he’s a few years past 17 — that he’s NOT too young for him. Thought I’d go another way.


End file.
